Laughing and chatting with the guests occupied no more than half her mind. The rest was a seething cauldron, feeding her tensions, tying her stomach in knots. In the end it was almost a relief to see him enter, just ahead of Smithers. His eyes scanned the room, fixing on her. Lenore stopped breathing. Calmly, he crossed the room, pausing by her side, elegantly offering his arm with a bland, “Miss Lester.”
With a cool nod, Lenore placed her hand on his sleeve, subduing by main force the tremor in her fingers. She kept her head high but her lids lowered, unwilling to risk his gaze. As they started for the door, she glanced briefly at his face. No expression lightened his harsh features; the granite planes of cheek and brow gave no hint of any emotion. Nevertheless, that single glance assured her that His Grace of Eversleigh was dangerously intent.
A shiver of apprehension ran through her. She suppressed it, steeling herself for the ordeal she was sure dinner would prove to be.
Beside her, Jason felt the tremor that ran through her. Consciously he tightened his grip on his temper, tried further than it had been in years by the woman gliding elegantly by his side. Despite her peculiar gowns, this evening’s a creation in dun-coloured silk, she possessed the power to sway his senses simply by walking beside him. His inclination was to engage her in the most pointedly difficult conversation of her life. He resisted the temptation, knowing she was on edge. His forbearance, entirely out of character, amazed him but he shied away from examining his motives. Time enough for that once he had got her agreement to wed.
Throughout the first course, Lenore was both subdued and unusually nervous as she waited for the axe to fall. Eversleigh, seated on her right, was too large a figure to ignore. But when, in the general conversation, he allowed a comment on marriage to pass untouched, she risked a puzzled glance at him. His eyes met hers. His face was still impassive; Lenore inwardly quaked. Then he asked her a question. Hesitantly, aware of the ears about them, she forced herself to answer. Before she knew what was happening, they were having a conversation of sorts, he asking innocuous questions, she responding. The exchange was stilted, Lenore could not conquer her trepidation, but, to the company at large, all appeared normal.
Lenore led the way from the drawing-room, grateful for the respite even if it was temporary. Eversleigh, for whatever reason, had held off throughout dinner. She held no illusions that he would allow the entire evening to lapse without speaking to her again. Luckily, the consensus had called for a repeat of the dancing held earlier in the week. Thanks to Eversleigh, she would be too busy to spare more than a dance for him. And she had her own plans for surviving that ordeal.
The gentlemen wasted no time over their port. They joined the ladies just as the musicians started up. As Lenore had foreseen, she was promptly solicited for the first dance, this time by Lord Percy.
“Must congratulate you, Miss Lester,” his lordship stated, barely able to turn his chin past his collars and the folds of his enormous cravat. “This week’s been a great success. A formidable success, yes, indeed!”
Lenore murmured an acknowledgement, her senses focused on Eversleigh. He had entered at the rear of the gentlemen, accompanying Harry. As Harry moved away to claim a partner, Eversleigh paused by the side of the room, scanning the dancers.
Abruptly, Lenore gave her attention to her partner, plastering a bright smile on her lips. “Did you enjoy the folly, my lord?”
“Oh, yes!” gushed Lord Percy. “Such dramatic views. Do you paint landscapes, Miss Lester? Very partial to a sensitive landscape, y’know.”
“I’m afraid watercolours are not my forte, my lord.”
“But you sing, Miss Lester. I was quite moved by your piece with Eversleigh t’other night. Utterly captivating, y’know. I was really much affected.”
Lord Percy moved on to describe other duets he had been privileged to hear. Lenore allowed him to ramble on, an attentive expression on her face, her mind elsewhere.
To her surprise, Jack claimed her for the next dance, a country reel which, Lenore recalled, he himself had taught her.
“Well, Lennie? How goes things, m’dear? Everything as calm and peaceful as I told you it would be?”
Lenore returned his smile. “I’ll admit that there’ve been no real difficulties, but I would not go so far as to credit either Harry or you with having made any contribution to my peace.”
Jack waved his hand airily. “You mean Tuesday evening. A miscalculation, my dear. Eversleigh set me straight.”
“Eversleigh?”
“Mmm. Devilish knowing, is Eversleigh. Well, he was right.” A wave indicated the crowd about them. “Had better sport today than we’ve had all week.”
Understanding that the activity her brother was referring to had nothing to do with competitive games, Lenore was not clear on the connection to Eversleigh but decided to leave well enough alone. “Do you see much of Eversleigh in town?”
“Some.” Jack twirled her about. “Top of the trees, is His Grace. Spars with the Gentleman himself, is a darling of Manton’s, an out-and-outer of the highest degree.”
“Oh?”
“Gracious, Lennie. You may hide in the country but you ain’t blind, m’dear. You’ve been sitting next to the man for five days.”
“Well, yes,” Lenore admitted. “But such things are not entirely obvious, you know.” Nevertheless, her memory promptly conjured up the sensation of Eversleigh’s arm about her when they had waltzed, of the strength of the muscles beneath his sleeve. She had noticed, certainly, but, used to the vigorous males of her family, she had found nothing remarkable in the fact. Eversleigh was simply slightly taller, his shoulders slightly broader, his chest slightly wider, his muscles slightly harder, his strength that much more compelling.
“But it’s not just that, you know.” Jack seemed to have taken a notion to widen her knowledge. “Eversleigh’s got something of a reputation—not just over women, although there’s that, of course. Well—” Jack gestured as they turned with the music. “He’s a past master there. But he’s a lot more powerful than that. Has connections all over, involved in all sorts of schemes and he’s as rich as Croesus to boot.” He paused to cast an affectionate glance her way. “He doesn’t have to call on his sister to pay his debts.”
Lenore returned his smile. “Does he have a sister?”
Jack shook his head. “Nor brother either, not now. Ricky, his younger brother, was killed at Waterloo.” He shot her a glance. “Wouldn’t mention it if I was you.”
“Of course not.”
“Anyway, that’s the reason he has to marry. Wouldn’t mention that to him, either.”
“I can assure you that marriage is the very last topic I would mention to His Grace.”
“Good. Mind you, it’ll be like the passing of an era—Montgomery marrying. He’s been a…well, an idol of sorts to us all.”
“He’s not that much older than you.”
Jack shrugged. “A few years. But it’s all that experience, you know.” He slanted her a rakish grin. “Dashed if I know how he’s fitted it all in.”
Lenore let that pass as the dance separated them. When she joined hands with Jack again, he was deep in cogitation.
“All in train for Friday night, then? No problems looming on the horizon?”
The vision of Eversleigh, somewhere in the crowd about them, waiting to pounce, came forcibly to Lenore’s mind. But any thoughts of seeking her brothers’ or father’s aid in dismissing Eversleigh had died with Jack’s eulogy. Eversleigh was exactly the sort of gentleman her family would wish her to wed. And no one in all of Christendom would understand her refusal of his suit. He was wealthy, powerful and devastatingly handsome. They would think she had run mad.
“Everything’s organised. The whole neighbourhood’s accepted, so there’ll be quite a crush.”
“Excellent.” Jack whirled her to a stop, bowing elegantly before her. He winked as he straightened, raising her from her curtsy. “And now I’ll leave you to your own devices, m’dear. As the effective host, I’m much in demand.”
Laughing, Lenore waved him away, but his words rang in her ears. Her own devices. She would have to deal with Eversleigh herself, quickly and decisively.
The opportunity to do so materialised almost instantly. The strains of a waltz drifted over the heads of the dancers. Lord Farningham appeared out of the crowd. Seeing the question in his eyes, Lenore inwardly sighed and smiled encouragingly. He had almost reached her when hard fingers curled possessively about her elbow.
“Our dance, I believe, Miss Lester.”
Lenore cast one glance up at Eversleigh’s hard face and knew it would be pointless to argue. Besides, this meeting between them had to come. The relative privacy of a waltz, surrounded by other guests, was a safe venue. Summoning an apologetic smile, she held out her hand to Lord Farningham. “I had forgot. Perhaps the next waltz, my lord?”
“Yes, of course.” Blushing slightly, Lord Farningham bowed.
Without further speech, Eversleigh led her to the floor, drawing her into his arms as if she was already his. Determined to remain in control, Lenore ignored it, locking her mind against the sensations teasing her senses. “I’m glad to have this opportunity to speak with you, Your Grace, for there is something I wish to say.”
“Oh?” Jason looked down at her, his expression forbidding. “What is that?”
Fixing her gaze on the space beyond his right shoulder, Lenore shut her ears to his warning and produced her rehearsed speech. “I am, as I said, sincerely honoured by your proposal. I think, however, that you have not yet accepted my refusal. I wish to make plain to you that my decision in this matter is unalterable, irrevocable. In short, there is nothing you could say or do that would convince me to marry. I would like to point out that this aversion of mine is not personal in nature. I simply do not feel inclined to marriage and, as you must be aware, there is no reason at all for me to wed.”
“You are wrong, Miss Lester.”
The strength in those words shook Lenore. She blinked, then recovered to ask haughtily, “Which part of my reasoning is at fault, Your Grace?”
“All of it.”
The conviction in his tone brought Lenore’s eyes to his. A will infinitely stronger than hers blazed in the grey depths.
“For a start,” Jason said, his accents clipped and definite, “you’re not honoured by my proposal in the least, you’re scared of it. You know damn well I’ve not accepted your refusal. There are more reasons than you know why we should wed. And as to there being nothing on this earth that could change your mind, don’t tempt me, Miss Lester.”
The threat was clear but Lenore was past caring. With a toss of her head she transferred her gaze into space. “I’ve given you my answer with as much reason as I can, Your Grace. If you chose to ignore it, that is none of my affair. However, I’m sure you can understand that I do not wish to discuss the matter further.”
Lenore felt the arm about her tighten, drawing her closer to his hard frame. Valiantly, she disregarded the hammering of her heart, keeping her head high and her expression untroubled.
“I’m very much afraid, Miss Lester, that I’m not as easily persuaded as other men. You have had your say; now it’s my turn.”
His hand was burning her back through the thick silk of her gown. But Lenore managed to infuse her features with an air of supreme indifference as she countered, her voice steady, her gaze tinged with boredom, “And I’m very much afraid, Your Grace, that if you mention the word ‘marriage’, or any of its synonyms, I—shall—scream.” The last three words were delivered with emphasis; Lenore allowed her mask to momentarily slip to reinforce them with a glare. Then, smoothly, she looked away, confident he would not call her bluff in the crowded drawing-room.
A long silence followed her threat. When Jason broke it, his voice was even, perfectly controlled. “Very well, Miss Lester. I shall have to use other means to demonstrate your errors. However, do remember this was your idea.”
Apprehension flooded Lenore.
“Perhaps I should start with the fantasies I have of your hair, loose and flowing in waves about you? Of course, in my dreams, you wear nothing else. Your hair is like silk, is it not? I dream of running my fingers through it, draping it over your charms.”
Lenore’s eyes flew wide. A blush rose to her cheeks. She did not dare look at him.
His face calm and impassive, Jason drew her still closer, so that his thighs brushed hers with every step. “And then there’s your eyes. Lucent pools of green, like the hazy green in the summer distance. I dream of how they’ll glow when I make love to you, Lenore, of how they’ll darken with passion…”
Lenore tried to shut her ears but nothing kept out the tenor of his voice, reverberating through her body. Despite all her efforts, her mind heard his words, his slow, sensual descriptions of her body, of how he would make love to her. His arm about her waist kept her upright, effortlessly whirling her through the turns, the sensation of his thighs against hers emphasising his words.
Inwardly Lenore burned, anger at his strategy melting in the fire his words evoked. Her skin was alive, nerves flickering with anticipation. A self she did not know stretched and purred, luxuriating in the shocking glow of his visions. And still the descriptions rolled on, his voice dropping to a deep caress as explicit as his fantasies.
It was the longest waltz Lenore had ever danced.
When it came to an end and he released her, she felt like sinking to the floor but pride kept her knees functioning. She forced herself to draw breath and turn to him, extending her hand. With a superhuman effort she kept her face as impassive as his. “Thank you, Your Grace, for a most informative dance. I’m sure you’ll understand if I decline any further invitations.”
With the slightest of curtsies, Lenore headed straight for the tea-trolley, making a timely entrance under Smithers’s direction. Her hands shook as she dispensed the cups. Twice she had to stop and drag in a calming breath. Once the chore was completed, she cast a quick glance about. Her father and Harriet were in their servants’ care; she had no wish to approach any member of her family in case they sensed her agitation. Amelia would have been a reassuring refuge, but, when she located her cousin’s fair curls, she saw Frederick Marshall beside her.
Determined not to give Eversleigh the satisfaction of seeing her run under fire, Lenore settled on Mrs. Whitticombe, joining that lady’s circle and remaining there for the rest of the evening.
From the opposite side of the room, Jason watched her, his face impassive, a frown in his eyes.
* * *
“MISS LESTER is in the library, Your Grace. Tucked away in the old wing, it is.”
“Thank you, Moggs.” Jason did not turn from the view beyond his chamber windows yet his mind was not filled with the shifting green of the canopies nor the rolling hills in the distance. As it had been for the past forty-eight hours, his mind was consumed with thoughts of Lenore Lester.
Moggs, his valet, moved quietly about the room, as self-effacing as ever. Moggs was a creature of silence, capable of so merging with the background that most overlooked his existence. His ability to garner the most surprising information had stood his master in good stead. Jason had frequently used his talents when in pursuit of the numerous mistresses who littered his past. He had, however, felt reluctant to set Moggs on Lenore’s trail. But his prospective bride had left him no choice.
It was Friday, the last day of the house party. The afternoon sun was already slanting across the treetops. If he did not gain Lenore’s agreement today, certain difficulties would arise. Returning to town without a firm understanding did not appeal, any more than did facing
the matchmaking mamas and his aunts with their favourites in tow. But to stay at Lester Hall and continue his strange wooing would mean taking at least Jack into his confidence. That, he was reluctant to do, not least for fear that familial pressure might be brought to bear on Lenore. He was no coxcomb but it was impossible not to acknowledge how society viewed the position of his duchess. And while he had castigated Lenore’s family as having been less than effective in their duty towards her, he did not imagine they were fools. They would urge Lenore to accept; he was not prepared to wager on the outcome.
The day before, Thursday, had tried his temper to the limit. He rarely felt moved by the emotion but Lenore prodded it effortlessly. Despite his extensive experience, she had succeeded in avoiding him throughout the long day. He had spent the hours in a fruitless endeavour to come up with her, learning in the process that Lester Hall was extremely large, its grounds more so. He had stumbled on numerous couples in his wanderings, Frederick and Lady Wallace included. That discovery had made him pause, but only for a moment. It was Lenore he wished to find, but he had not found her.
She had entered the drawing-room, serene as ever, and had remained coolly aloof throughout dinner. Hampered by the eyes about them, knowing no one had yet seen anything odd in his attentions to his hostess, he had yielded to the promptings of caution and kept a rein on his tongue. But his plans for her evening had been dashed. When he returned to the drawing-room with the rest of the gentlemen it was to find she had flown. She had pleaded a headache and left her cousin to tend the teacups.
That had been the last straw. He had spent the evening here, in his chamber, examining the reasons for his overwhelming desire to marry her and her alone. They were sound. Aside from satisfying all his needs, he was convinced that marriage to him would be, very definitely, in her best interests too. He had carefully studied the matter from every angle. There was a cloud over her future which she was refusing to see. The idea of leaving her to her fate as an unwed spinster in a household run by her brother’s wife was not one he viewed with any favour. What joy would she have then, stripped of the position she presently held, no longer the driving force in the family, the central cog about which they all turned? He was determined to make her face that fact. And allow him to rescue her from her fate.
Rules of Engagement: The Reasons for MarriageThe Wedding PartyUnlaced (Lester Family) Page 10